


Sucks to suck

by newbandnamethx



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Disordered Eating, M/M, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbandnamethx/pseuds/newbandnamethx
Summary: Rodimus lets mini rodimus do most of the thinking one evening and now he's the cybertronian equivalent of a vampire. Thunderclash volunteers to be his live donor, making things more complicated than they already were.
Relationships: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Thunderclash
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Sucks to suck

Rodimus sighed miserably as he sat confined in the lab. It had been a dumb mistake. Something which he was practically famous for at this point. But seriously.

When the pretty femme had motioned for him to follow her, of course Rodimus had, she’d winked at him! What else could he expect but a good time? Drift had fretted of course, and told him it was a bad idea, and they were needed back on the ship, but he had been itching for something like this for a while, some sort of odd new excitement, or fresh adventure that was simple, small, self contained. Even if it was a set up to rob him or something, what did he have to lose?

A lot more than he anticipated, apparently.

“Where are you getting this stuff?” Rodimus asked, fuel tanks churning as the small chute in his quarantine room was opened and a cube of energon was passed through. It wasn’t normal energon of course, his systems could no longer take that.

It was post processed energon, taken from some anonymous donor. Rodimus needled his lips with his elongated denta, as he took the cube. The room he was in was normally used for quarantine should anyone become infected with something while out on a foreign planet. They’d used it a couple of times, and Rodimus’ heightened senses told him that the last person in here had vomited quite a few times. He shifted uncomfortably. 

“Thanks Ratch,” Rodimus said as he took the cube and eyed it dolefully. He didn’t like it, no one really did, bar maybe Brainstorm who was treating him like his latest lab specimen. To make matters worse, he didn’t think the energon he was being given was doing much for him. It hadn’t made him purge like the synthetic stuff Brainstorm had given him, but he could feel it, deep in his spark, that some vital part of him was waning, though the stuff in the cube he currently held was keeping it at bay. He didn’t bother to tell Ratchet or Brainstorm though. It wasn’t like it mattered all that much, sure his tank hurt, and sure he felt ready purge on occasion, but it wasn’t dire. In fact, it was probably beneficial for everyone if he kept himself in a weakened state.

He sniffed the cube. It was his favorite donor. He could tell them apart by scent, so far, over the course of about a week, with two separate fuelings a day, there were five or so mechs who donated energon to him. Each of them tasted distinct, the different frame types and processing methods of their systems left a unique sort of tang to each mech’s energon. He even thought he could taste the barest hint of their individual spark energy, but maybe that was just him going slowly insane.

One however he liked more than the others. He wasn’t quite sure why, of course he wasn’t. But something about it was mellower than the others, smooth in taste, energon slightly sweet with a bit of a bitter bite at the end. It was wistful, melancholic, and reminded him of something, though he didn’t dare think about it long enough to put a name to it. Rodimus downed the whole thing in one go. He’d caught Ratchet staring at him while he savored his cube, and he didn’t think he wanted to see that particular look of distaste directed at him ever again, as inevitable as it probably was.

“Sorry about trying to nuzzle your main fuel line out of your neck by the way,” Rodimus said as he handed back his empty cube.

Ratchet merely grunted, absentmindedly rubbing at the patch job on his neck. He’d been the one Drift brought when he found Rodimus out cold in the alleyway, systems seemingly offline, spark fluttering weakly. As pathetic as he’d looked, it still took three other mecha to pry him off Ratchet, mouth smeared with the medics’ energon. Drift hadn’t been by to visit him all week, which was a good thing because Rodimus didn’t quite yet know how he was going to look him in the optic.

He really did feel awful about that one.

“Don’t worry Rodimus,” Brainstorm’s obnoxiously upbeat tone shattered the awkward silence much to his relief. “I’m working on a cure for your vampirism and if that looks like it will take a while, I’ll develop something that will make it safe for you to get out of quarantine.”

“Vampirism,” Rodimus asked incredulously. He knew the trope, he’d seen enough of Rewind’s horror flicks during weekly movie night to have an idea.

“It’s the closest description to what you have, denta elongation when low on fuel, only able to subsist on our species’ equivalent of blood, only real major difference is that you aren’t undead and this is probably reversible. Also you probably won’t burn up when sunlight hits you.”

“Alright, alright. And how long should all this take?”

Brainstorm shrugged. “Another week? At least until we can safely let you out.”

“Perfect, great,” Rodimus muttered sarcastically. He was sure this was the best news that Magnus and Megatron had received since they found themselves successfully transferred to the new dimension.

Rodimus was eyeing his quarantine glass, wondering if his freakish vampire strength was enough to break it when the lights started to flicker.

“What’s up with that?,” he asked, optics flicking up to look at the ceiling where the lights were dimming and brightening in wild flashes.”

“Ah, we’re close to a star that’s having a bit of a solar thunderstorm, it can mess with electronics and stuff, a sort of low level emp.”

“Should we worry about that?” Rodimus muttered as he slowly turned his optics back to the glass he was resting his servos against.

Brainstorm shrugged. “Our systems could get knocked offline by a particularly strong flare, but we should be able to have them up again in no time if that should happen.”

Just as Brainstorm finishes speaking, there’s an unsettling shiver that roils through the ship and the flickering lights go out.

“Ah, well, that would be that,” Brainstorm snickered. “I’ll be back captain, I’m going to go fix that.”

Rodimus sighed harshly. He could see just fine in the room, and was aware Ratchet had lingered. He looked the medic over. His servo had trailed off the patch on his neck and he was just staring in Rodimus’ general direction intently.

“Don’t worry Ratch, I’m still in here,” Rodimus called, enjoying the way the medic started slightly at his voice. Again, Ratchet doesn’t bother saying anything. 

“I’m sorry by the way, I know I said it before but, not just for hurting you but for putting Drift at risk,” Rodimus said with a small, miserable shrug. A thought had been lingering with him for a while, ever since they entered this new universe. Ever since he had noticed Magnus and Megatron growing closer to one another, how well they worked together, delegated commands.

“I’ve been thinking of handing off cocaptiancy to Magnus,” he finally utters aloud. “I know it won’t undo what I’ve done but, maybe it’s long past time.”

Ratchet’s face screws up in a look of irritation and anger, and still he’s not speaking. Maybe Rodimus had caught his vocalizer in the attack. With an irritated and dismissive wave, Ratchet fumbles his way to the exit, rounds the corner, and is gone.

He isn’t sure how long he’s alone in the dark, but after a while he feels his senses begin to heighten. Distantly he can feel the vibrations from the thud of heavy footsteps through the Lost Light, hear the sound of distant conversations, and somewhere far off, just smell the barest hint of energon. Someone must have cut themselves.

Something within him starts to well up, and Rodimus feels himself growing faint, disconnected, a stranger in his own frame. His body seems to move for him, and without really thinking about it, he’s pressing himself up against the glass of his container.

Brainstorm had told him the glass was bulletproof, he’d tested it himself. Apparently shot himself with the ricochet. The last thing he sees before he blacks out is the spidering cracks of his containment room as he presses the palm of his servo on it.

When Rodimus wakes up, there’s broken glass all around him, and a shivering minibot under him. There’s also something sharp poking at his main fuel line and his side aches dully.

“Swerve?”

“Oh Primus, Rodimus are you actually...” Swerve’s terrified voice trailed off as the minibot seemed to fumble for words. “Are you, yourself?”

“Of course I’m myself, what does that even mean?” Rodimus asked irritably as he withdrew back from his looming position over the minibot. They’re on the bar floor, and even as he withdraws Swerve doesn’t lower the broken bottle he’d been about to gash Rodimus open with.

“The lights went out on the ship because of the thunderstorm, and then all of a sudden Megatron was saying everyone needed to be back in their quarters because you’d gotten out and I was just about to head out,” Swerve said in a rush, his words nearly running into each other as he anxiously released his story in a deluge of verbal vomit.

“I’ve not been feeling good these last few days, I guess I blacked out,” Rodimus muttered more to himself than Swerve, who only looked more terrified at that statement.

“Just, go, get out of here,” Rodimus said to him, jerking a thumb towards the door.

“What are you going to do?” Swerve asked nervously, looking for all the world like he was ready to bolt, but also keeping consistent with his very Swerve quality of never knowing when to shut his mouth.

“I don’t know Swerve,” Rodimus said tiredly. “Now get out of here before I hurt you.”

Swerve didn’t need to be told again, eagerly transforming and zipping out of the room with a squeal of tires, probably off to Misfire’s hab if Rodimus had to guess. Rodimus looked around him. Not only were there a few broken bottles, some of them looking like they had held some expensive high grade, but there was also a table bent near in half with deep gouges in it and some scorch marks of what looked like shots from a blaster.

Rodimus slowly realized that there was a low burn in the side of his chassis, and looked under his arm to see he indeed had been grazed with a shot on his side. He opened a comm to Swerve.

“Did you shoot me?” 

“I-I, it was an accident! It was supposed to be a warning shot, I fired a few, but you know my aim, the one time I’m trying not to hit something and I-.”

Rodimus closed the comm and sighed, holding his helm in his servos. He felt a part of his helm growing fuzzy as his perception grew dim. He found his body moving without his consent, felt himself jumping up to pry the grating of the vent above Swerve’s bar out from the wall, tossing it away with ease as it clattered to the ground a second later. He stopped himself a moment to contemplate the open black before him. There was something he was supposed to be doing at that particular moment, but when he tried to draw his mind to what it was, all he came up with was a wall of blank nothingness. 

A part of him, a base bit of coding deeper than his processor seemed to be capable of being aware of, had him sliding up into the vent. His senses were filled with the presence of a scent, that same scent he’d smelled so many times when he was cooped up in that glass box, slowly starving. The scent that was the closest thing he’d had to respite.

Rodimus followed his instincts, shuffling through the vent towards the smell as it grew nearer and nearer until its presence was cloying and Rodimus could barely stop himself from salivating, until finally he reached the source. He peered down through an air vent, into the room of what looked to be a vacant hab suite. Rodimus stilled for a moment and listened, and as he focused he realized he could hear the vitals of another mech within the room.

More on impulse than any conscious thought, he punched the vent out and dropped down into the room, stalking in the direction of the smell before he even really understood that is what he was doing.

He paused for a moment after he recognized the other mech.

“Thunders?” He said, a bit dumfounded.

“Hi Rodimus,” Thunderclash waved a servo sheepishly, not looking threatened by Rodimus in the slightest. Rodimus noticed that the servo he was waving had a deep gash in it and was leaking out energon. Ah. So that was why he had smelled it so strongly.

“You’ve been donating to me?” Rodimus asked, mouth slightly agape, all consuming hunger momentarily forgotten in his shock.

“Yeah, I,” Thunderclash was rubbing the back of his helm with his good servo. “I’ve been contributing with the others.”

“Why would you-,” Rodimus closed his optics, taking in a deep intake and letting it out slowly as the oddness of the situation threatened to overwhelm him. Primus. The ache of his thirsting systems was steadily returning now that his initial shock was wearing off and his attention was being dragged back forcefully to that of the matter at hand.

Primarily him wanting to put his fangs in one of Thunder’s major fuel lines.

“Listen Thunders, I got about two minutes, maybe three before I’m going to be getting a little bitey so if you want to tie me up or whatever, now would be the time,” Rodimus punctuated his statement by extending his wrists together, offering them to the other mech.

“I am technically supposed to sedate you,” Thunderclash unsubspaced a rather mean looking needle showing it off before subspacing it back away. “But if you would like to feed from me a bit to ease your systems, I would have no issue with that.”

“I- really?” Rodimus ignored the numerous voices in his processor telling him that this was a bad idea, he was taking advantage of Thunderclash, that this wasn’t becoming of a captain. The voices sounded a lot like Magnus, which made them all the easier to shove down and ignore. Now that the thrill of the hunt was over, the ever familiar distant nausea and ache of his tanks was coming back to him. Rodimus licked his lips and tried to swallow down his temptation, but it caught in his throat, heavy and stifling in its ever present nature.

Thunderclash merely responded by turning his servo palm up and tracing a line up his arm. 

“Around here is where I usually draw energon from for donation purposes,” Thunderclash admitted, looking almost shy.

“I can just, lick the wound closed,” Rodimus offered tentatively. 

“Whatever is best for you,” Thunderclash said with a shrug. His optics were so open and honest it made a part of Rodimus curl uneasily on itself. Instead of responding, he just took Thunderclash’s servo in his own, the appendage large, almost impossibly so, in his own servos. Feeling a bit silly, he still found it necessary to say, “If I, er, hurt you-.”

“You won’t,” Thunderclash said firmly, and Rodimus didn’t know if he should feel insulted by the confidence in the other mech’s tone or not.

“But if I do,” Rodimus insisted, tone growing impatient as it often did with Thunderclash. “No hard feelings if you crack open my processor or something in self defense. Hell I’ll give you a Rodimus Star for it.”

“I trust you Rodimus, I trust you to have control over this,” Thunderclash assured him, or at least tried to. But in reality it did the opposite. How many people had he let down because they trusted him? He couldn’t even count the number of people he’d disappointed this week on one servo. The image of Swerve, quivering and terrified underneath him flashed through Rodimus’ mind and he winced. 

“Are you alright?” Right in that moment, he’s pretty sure Thunderclash had, to some degree picked up on his weakness. He knew there was something off.

Rodimus realized he hated Thunderclash right there, right then, looking at him with concern and tenderness, and all those other emotions that seemed so distant and reviled to him. He felt a swirling burst of emotions in his spark, and if the situation weren’t dire, he’d be running to find something dangerous and thrill inducing to distract from his emotions.

But here he was. Trapped in a room with Thunderclash, being offered the first real sustenance he’d seen in a week as well as a way to get a grip on himself.

“I’m thinking of giving up my cocaptain role and passing it off to Magnus,” is what he finally said miserably. 

“Oh,” Thunderclash said, startled surprise and confusion crawling across his stupidly nice looking features.

Rodimus sighed, “This whole ordeal.” He gestured to himself. “Has made me realize that my incompetency has gone on long enough, and the only one who can really call that shot is me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Rodimus finished. His thoughts drew back to Optimus, how one of the last times he’d seen him, his idol had looked at him, so disappointed and bitter. 

“I don’t think you’re incompetent Rodimus,” Thunderclash said, expression softening in a way that was once again painful to him, why was it so painful? Rodimus looked away but continued to listen as Thunderclash spoke. “I think you’ve been put into a series of trials, not all of them handled the best, you’ve made some risky calls, not all of them good. But you are good Rodimus, I know you are.”

“Thanks,” Rodimus mutters bitterly after a moment, because a part of him just can’t allow Thunderclash to know that his words mean something. And a part of him was ashamed at how much the shallow praise did mean to him, how badly he wanted it to be true.

“I’ll take you up on that energon now,” Rodimus said after a pause. “The donations are nice, but I don’t think they’re sustaining me. I think that’s why I’m having the black outs.”

“Well we can work something out later to improve that,” Thunderclash murmured, as he watched Rodimus dip his face towards his servo with keen interest. Rodimus lapped at his servo with eager little licks, abrasive tongue drawing out more energon as he licked the wound clean. It took less than a few minutes for Thunderclash to end up with a neatly cleaned wound and Rodimus to pull away with a bit of pink smeared on his face, optics hazy and contented.

“Is that enough for you?” Thunderclash asked as he eyed Rodimus carefully.

“It’s,” Rodimus hesitated. It wasn’t enough, not really, and a part of him wanted to keep going. But part of him knew he should draw back, show some self restraint until they had things better sorted. As assured as Thunderclash was in his capabilities, Rodimus was on a losing streak this week and didn’t need to add another mech to that. 

“It’s good enough for now.”

“Rodimus that can’t have satisfied you,” Thunderclash pressed, and Rodimus felt his irritation returning and his pleasant haze diminish. “I’ll take culpability for whatever happens, just please,” Thunderclash offered his wrist for him and before Rodimus could protest more, he pulled out the energy knife he’d apparently made the first cut with and slashed a fuel line, so that energon quickly began to bead up, enticing and pungent in its scent.

“You aft, I just told you,” Rodimus snapped, looking up at Thunderclash in frustration, though he felt his optics eager to drag down back to the cut at the seductive welling of energon. Thunderclash was looking back at him, expression surprisingly stubborn on the usually gentle and rather passive mech’s face. Sometimes, well quite often actually, Rodimus forgot that he was more than just a name and a reputation.

“You were lying though,” Thunderclash returned, his own voice growing heated. “I’m not naive Rodimus. If you think starving yourself is some kind of retribution you deserve for this whole situation, you’re wrong. And self flagellating like this isn’t helping anyone, especially not those who care about you,” the last sentence is said with a peculiar sort of rawness that Rodimus is trying to decipher but his processor keeps going back to the energon, and with a strangled noise of disgust he’s biting, sincerely biting Thunderclash.

He’s aware of it this time, much more so than how he was with Ratchet. He felt his denta pierce the thin fuel line and he felt the warm rush of energon flourish in his mouth. The taste was full and rich and he swallowed it down. That hint of melancholy was still there, but this time there’s more of an electric sizzle that overruled it somewhat. 

The energon itself tasted as vibrant and alive as Thunderclash was, and Rodimus felt some of that vitality being shared to him. Every part of him was alive and buzzing, and he can’t help the excited little rev his engine gave in the process. A part of him, a distant, more grounded, much weightier part of him, reminded him that he’s still feeding off Thunderclash like a parasite.

A bit of his euphoria dimmed at that and Rodimus pulls back, wiping the smear of energon off his mouth.

“Sorry about that Thunders,” Rodimus said, slightly out of breath. 

“You’re hot Rodimus-,” Thunderclash began.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rodimus muttered as he tried to calm his spinning processor.

“-and your vents are on, are you overheating?” Thunderclash was looking at him, magenta optics full of concern, servo around his waist tightening slightly.

“Thunders,” Rodimus bit out in an exasperated near wheeze, finally deciding to put a name to the familiar yet foreign feeling rampaging through his systems. “I’m horny.”

“You’re- oh. Oh,” Thunderclash immediately looked away, a bashful expression crawling across his face. Was it really only Rodimus who noticed how young the other mech could look at times? Greatest Autobot of all time his aft.

“Yeah, it was like that the first time too. Side effect of ingesting a lot of energon very quickly,” Rodimus sighed. 

Awkward silence hung between them as Rodimus fidgeted.

“So, wanna frag?”

Thunderclash choked on his own surprise, looking at Rodimus, wide eyed as if he’d never seen a valve before, no sir.

“Come on Thunders, I figure you’d be used to mecha throwing themselves at you, you wanna frag or not?”

Thunderclash hesitated for a moment, and maybe it was Rodimus’ oversized ego, but he swore the other mech looked sorely tempted.

“We shouldn’t,” is what Thunderclash finally forced out, expression looking pained as he did so.

“Why the hell not” Rodimus huffed impatiently.

“Er, this was a setup to recapture you. And there’s a camera most likely still being monitored,” Thunderclash said, looking embarrassed.

“Ah,” Rodimus said, deflating of all his intent to wheedle Thunderclash into a quickie as he realized by tomorrow morning at the latest the whole crew would probably know of his proposition to Thunderclash. 

“You couldn’t have told me that any earlier, could you Thunders,” Rodimus stated flatly as he felt his face grow warm. Thank Primus he didn’t blush anymore.

“It had not occurred to me, I apologize,” Thunderclash said stiffly, and he at least did his part to look it.

“Well usually I’d offer we go somewhere else, but I doubt the crew is down to let me do that,” Rodimus sighed.

“They’re ready to sedate you as soon as you step out of the room.”

“Great,” Rodimus huffed. He definitely didn’t want to be subjected to that sort of humiliation. ”Primus this is a mess.” He looked around the room, at the plain berth, the door, and then finally, back at Thunderclash.

“Well, I assume you have some sedative,” Rodimus said, letting his shoulders slump in defeat. 

“Ah yes, I do,” Thunderclash said with a nod, unsubspacing the needle and offering it out to Rodimus.

Rodimus ignored him and tilted his helm away from him, baring his neck, “Well, no need to drag this out, go ahead.”

“You want me to do it?” Thunderclash looked surprised. 

“Thunders, I know it’s me,” Rodimus said, putting a servo over his spark and turning to the other bot, looking at him seriously. “But I’m not always one hundred percent me. I’ve been blacking out, and even when I’m conscious, I chronically make bad choices. So do us both a favor and put a little less trust in me.”

Thunderclash didn’t respond, he just looked at him, expression unreadable, lowered the outstretched servo with the needle settled upon it. Rodimus sighed, and bared his neck again. Before he could even blink, with surprising speed for a mech his size, Thunderclash had jabbed the needle into Rodimus’ cabling and after a moment, things were starting to go fuzzy at the edges.

“‘S strong stuff,” Rodimus mumbled, feeling himself wobble on his pedes, until his back hit the wall.

“Brainstorm said it was fast acting,” Thunderclash said as he made to approach him but Rodimus held up a servo to hold him at bay.

“Ah, ah, ah. What did I say Thunders, ‘bout trust,” his words were losing their hard edges as Rodimus struggled to slur through words. His legs were starting to buckle under him, and he felt himself sliding down the wall to a crumpled pile on the floor, spoiler scraping noisily as he did. “S’not smart to trust in me.” 

Rodimus let himself pass out.

**Author's Note:**

> heres that extension of my kinktober quickie. Slower burn kinda thing. Btw if you like Thunderrod I have like, two more wips for this ship in progress. Also rating my go up, fyi.


End file.
